


Sharpest Tooth

by lavellanpls



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Biting, Blood, Body Paint, F/M, Kink Meme, Porn with Feelings, Scratching, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 07:13:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4338908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavellanpls/pseuds/lavellanpls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt: <i>"At some point the Inquisitor has dealings with the Avvar. To further diplomatic relations, she and her companions end up dressing up in the local garb/animal skins. She is given a coat made from the pelt of a wolf. Cue Solas finding this an unexpected turn-on and is unable to keep his hands off her for reasons he can’t explain to anyone."</i></p><p>She whipped back to face him, eyes glowing golden through a smeared band of black paint. “Hey, Solas. Look.” With a wink, she snapped her jaws at him and grinned. “I’m the Dread Wolf.”</p><p>This was going to be a problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Avvar armor was impractical at _best,_ and at worst… Well. He previously would have went with a few options—laughably inefficient, detrimental, _absurd,_ perhaps. But now his view was starting to shift to…something else. A much different word.

Lavellan stood before him and grinned. “Now _this_ is my kind of armor.”

“That,” Solas corrected, “is not armor.”

She rotated in place before her companions, grinning and entirely too pleased with herself, bare from the waist up save strategically placed stripes of thick, Avvar body paint. A loose pair of pants hung low on her hips, knotted together with belts and furs. Dorian gave a low whistle. Iron Bull burst out in mad laughter. Solas just… _stared._

The ensemble was a gift from the local Avvar—one she was far too eager to accept. No doubt she’d pass it off as simply an act of diplomacy, but Solas suspected the elf really just delighted in anything that let her wear less clothing. Perhaps it was a Dalish thing. Or a death wish. Lavellan was probably just happy not to have buttons.

But the worst of it was that damned _fur_.

It was the largest of the gifts. A wolf pelt, draped over her bare shoulders and fashioned into some kind of macabre headdress. A massive, silver-white thing that blended in far too seamlessly with her hair and clothes and war paint and _all of_ her, until the elf was swallowed by a beastly mass.

The effect on him was immediate as it was wholly _unexpected_.

“You know, lady pirates will go topless into battle,” she said, and for once he hoped she was not talking to him. Savage, hot-blooded little thing, all war paint and stolen fur…

Lavellan neatly dragged him back to reality. “Or, they’ll corner an enemy, and right before the killing blow they’ll rip open their jacket, like, ‘Ha! Beaten by a lady! With _boobs!_ ’”

“Pirates do not do that,” he argued, offhand. He was surprised he’d replied at all. For a moment he’d lost time.

“At least one does.”

“The good ones do,” Dorian amended. “So is this ‘savage wolf princess’ look going to become a permanent fixture, then?”

Solas answered for her with an entirely too quick “No,” while she replied at the same instant with, “ _Yes._ ”

“Are you positive that thing is dead?” Dorian asked, still studying it from a careful distance. “Remarkable. No matter where I stand it’s _looking_ at me.”

Iron Bull, meanwhile, had finally managed to compose himself. “Now _this_ is why I joined. Fighting bad guys? Sure. Fighting bad guys _topless?_ Way better. You know, Boss, you would’ve made a pretty good Qunari.” A pause. “Or a _really_ bad one.”

Solas was unsure if she responded. Certainly hadn’t heard her, if she had.

Lavellan shrugged the pelt closer; reached up with painted arms to pull the fanged hood further over her head.

Impractical, ridiculous, _stupid,_ really, and _distracting_ -

She whipped back to face him, eyes glowing golden through a smeared band of black paint. “Hey, Solas. Look.” With a wink, she snapped her jaws at him and grinned. “I’m the Dread Wolf.”

This was going to be a problem.

* * *

 They spent the better half of a day trekking through nearby jungle, mapping out locations in the wilderness. Lavellan led from the front, picking through dense underbrush with thief-like silence. Practiced. Filtered light from the canopy cast long, dark shadows over them, and her figure shifted with each passing shadow into something almost… _feral_ …

“Clearing ahead,” she called back with a wave. “Hold up, I think it’s a landmark…”  
Solas watched as a wolf with two faces twisted in and out of the dark ahead.

The thoughts kept returning.

In another time, another _life_ …

 _No._ No, then they truly would have a problem. As it was he was finding it difficult enough not to reach out and _touch_ her, _grab,_ rip off that stupid, grinning wolf and sink teeth into the soft flesh of her painted throat-

Ahead, Lavellan halted when she caught his eye. “Feeling well?” She offered a well-meaning smile, and the painted black fangs on her cheeks turned it into a snarl.

“Fine,” he reported, but he must have been slipping. Lavellan’s stare narrowed just _so,_ into an expression he swore would be the death of him. He tried to ignore it.

 _Tried_ being imperative.

They were on their way back to camp, nearing dusk, when she slowed to a stroll beside him.

“You’ve been awfully brood-y,” she noted. “What, not a fan of the Avvar?”

“Only concerned their armor may not hold up as well against demons.”

“ _Concern,_ is it?” She raised a hand to her chest in a mock exaggeration of offense. “And here I mistook that flush for something else entirely.”

He had to smile. “You do seem to have that effect, Inquisitor.” He allowed himself a cursory glance at her painted torso. “Among others.”

For once he was infinitely glad to have other people around them—he wasn’t sure he could convince himself not to touch her if they were alone. Although maybe just once, if he didn’t linger…

“I’ve been talking to some of our new Avvar friends,” she reported, seemingly oblivious to his plight. “You know, they wear wolf skin as a disguise when they hunt. It lets them sneak up close to big herds of things. Because unless an animal is slow or weak or sick, they don’t have much to fear from wolves, but _people_ …” Her eyes glittered. “Now that’s a different beast.”

Solas responded with the driest of calculated remarks. “Are you planning a hunt, Inquisitor?”

She didn’t answer.

But perhaps that was an answer in itself.

Their camp came into view up ahead, and not a moment too soon. Lavellan bound forward to greet the scouts, already shouting something excitedly about newly discovered areas on the map. Solas hung back.

He felt the dull, building pressure of a headache coming on, and realized with indignation that he was achingly, _painfully_ hard.

* * *

 Nightfall hit suddenly and heavily. It did not take long for the camp to fall silent.

The rest of their party was lost to sleep hours ago. _Solas_ should have been asleep, by all accounts, but… Something old and anxious and entirely too familiar needled at his spine. He wasn’t sure a bedroll beside Lavellan was the best place for him to be at present. Not when his thoughts kept dipping into somewhere…darker.

Instead he lingered outside their shared tent, keeping an intent gaze on the fire. He didn’t notice her slinking toward him until she silently twined her fingers with his.

The small contact left him _shuddering_. This was ridiculous—he was more patient than this, better _practiced_ …

“Hey. Solas.” The fire at the center of camp was only dying wisps of flame now. Beyond its glow, the threat of night pressed ever closer. She’d moved closer now; stood just inches away. He could almost _feel_ … _In another time-_ “Did you ever hear the old fairytale about the girl and the wolf?”

The headache was turning into something else. Suddenly the jungle seemed far too loud. “You will have to refresh my memory. Which one?”

“The girl dressed all in red, who sets out for her grandmother’s house and meets an awful wolf along the way?” She grinned, and in the dying light painted fangs turned it into a vicious smirk. “What, don’t tell me the tale’s too _Dalish_ for you.”

“That is not a-” He sighed, resigned. “Yes. I’ve heard versions of it.” Details varied, muddied by time and bias, but the key elements remained. A well-meaning girl meets a wolf in the woods, tells him of her grandmother’s house ahead, and gets herself and grandmother both eaten when the wolf reveals more sinister intentions. Trust not a stranger, or some such rhetoric. Quaint.

Her eyes glittered. “Do you remember the end?” She didn’t wait for him to respond before reciting, hushed: “ _Little girls, this seems to say. Never stop upon your way_.” She walked her fingertips slowly up his chest, nails digging in just a little too hard with each agonizing advancement. “ _Never trust a stranger-friend. No one knows how it will end…_ ”

Oh, this was definitely a problem.

“ _Vhenan_ ,” he warned, and he could already feel his hands going to her hips, fingers curling too tightly. This was hardly the time, even further from the place, and this whole stupid _Avvar_ idea- Her nails finally found bare skin and _scraped_. “ _Lilith!_ ”

Her response was…troublesome. She continued spilling nursery rhymes over grinning lips. “ _As you’re pretty, so be wise. Wolves may lurk in every guise_.” Nails like claws dug into his chest while she pressed herself ever closer to his throat, until her teeth scraped flat against his skin with each word. “ _Now, as then, ‘tis simple truth…_ ” She twisted her fingers in the cord around his neck and _pulled_.

“ _Sweetest tongue has sharpest tooth_.”

Solas broke.

He crushed her against him, trapping her arms between them as he grabbed her by the jaw and kissed her, slow and deep and _hungry_. For a brief, torturous moment, Lavellan lost her balance, bent too far back and was _his_ , held tight to him by a crushing arm at her back. _His_ warrior, his savage hunter, and suddenly he was in the middle of a war long dead. _Once,_ he could indulge _once,_ if only-

Lilith found her balance. Ripping her mouth free, she shoved him back a wavering step with two firm hands to his chest.

Solas froze.

This had been a mistake. They’d done this before, but not like _this,_ not out here, not when he kept falling inexplicably back into a regretful past. That damned _fur_ and that awful, grinning wolf-

He didn’t have a better word for it. She _attacked_.

Suddenly the fingers previously clawing into his shirt were clamped around his collar, tugging, pulling herself closer, _highe_ r, impatient lips parting into his, until she could wrap her legs around his waist and _cling_. He held her tight with a bruising grasp on her thigh; scraped a hand through her hair for purchase and only barely resisted pulling.

It wasn’t until she sucked his bottom lip between her teeth and _bit_ that he realized this may, in fact, have escalated a bit far out of control.

His lower back hit the potions table with a bump that sent a flask shattering to the ground, and he finally— _miraculously—_ found it in him to _stop_. He could not say the same for Lavellan. Pushing her back was agony.

“ _Vhenan,_ please…”

That worked. She made a low, furious noise in the back of her throat, but finally stopped trying to tear him open. She disentangled herself from his person and stood, and in the dim glowing light Solas was finally able to get a look at her.

Ah. Lovely.

Damning handprints marred the paint at her waist, over her breasts, dragged down her sides in claw marks to her hips. He looked down at his marked hands, and caught sight of his shirt—a perfect silhouette of her chest, in paint, smeared across his front.

Of _course_.

This had been foolish. Impulsive. _Childish,_ which was the true shame, because he knew _infinitely_ better. He was too old for this. He was far, far too old for this.

“Forgive me,” was all he could manage to force. “I am…not feeling myself, at present.”

He could not indulge this… _whatever_ this was, fantasy or _game_ or-

Lavellan responded in a rather unexpected fashion. She put both hands on his chest and _shoved_. Solas caught himself before he could fall, but not before landing hard on one knee. “ _Lilith,_ ” he admonished, and prepared to follow it with something about restraint, or _responsibility,_ or maybe warn her that if she didn’t turn back now he may never let her leave the woods.

He never finished.

She knocked him to his back and was suddenly atop him, straddling, her knees digging trenches into the dirt on either side of his hips. Leaning forward, she pressed him down with a flattened hand over each collarbone. “Silly boy.” With a steadily sharpening grin, she pulled the furred hood back over her head until the figure atop him was reduced to a pair of wicked, glowing eyes. “What makes you think _you’re_ the wolf?”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heads up for straight up porn. Get it Lavellan _dang._

_Oh._

Her eyes flashed downward, and the bare, feral _hunger_ there made his heartbeat stutter. “Out of these,” she demanded, tugging at the lacings of his breeches. “ _Now_.”

Apparently he wasn’t quick enough. When his own attempt proved too slow, she shoved him away to rip at them herself. The lacing gave way with another firm tug, and his straining cock was finally freed. A triumphant grin flashed across her face at the steady drip of precum left pooling on his stomach.

Maybe it was the flickering light that sharpened her smile into something predatory—maybe it was something else entirely. She locked glowing eyes with him, and he felt himself _devoured_.

He tried to push into the touch, into _her,_ but her attention had moved on. She wasn’t interested in getting him fully undressed—just exposed. She pulled and tore at his robes, tugged off the shirts beneath, scratched furious red lines down his chest when there was nothing left to separate her. For a wild, dazed moment, he thought she’d keep going—thought she’d claw into him until she hit bone, wrap her fingers around his heart and _rip_.

And he would deserve it. All of it. He’d deceived and lied and _destroyed_ and it was only a matter of time before lurking wolves finally caught up to him; finally devoured him.

Lavellan pinned his wrists to the dirt and surged forward, catching his mouth in a crushing kiss too rushed to savor before pulling back to tug at the furs tied round her hips. He reached to help, but was batted away with a stern “ _No_.” Then, lower: “You don’t get to touch yet.” Swearing, she wriggled free of the last of her clothes, finally, graciously, _naked,_ except-

He went for the clasp at her throat and found his hand snatched away. She pushed him down with a hard shove to the sternum and sat back, eyes glowing. “ _Ah,_ ” she warned. “It was a gift.”

He glanced up at the second set of eyes bearing down on him and frowned. “It’s staring at me.”

“Good.” She shifted forward, shoulders rolling beneath a cloak of white fur. “Stare back.”

She pushed back against his cock maddeningly slow, careful to let him press in only just _so_ before pulling back, savoring the slow drag against her clit. Beneath her splayed hands, he could only bite his lip and try not to scream. For a long, agonizing stretch, she only played—hips rolled back only to drag her aching cunt up the length of his cock in a slow grind. Still. He kept his hands clenched into fists at his side. Not yet.

Finally, when he thought she’d finally break him, she leaned back, letting him slowly sink into her, inch by gradual inch, and seated herself flat against him with a shuddering exhale. “Don’t move.”

A simple command. But not one Solas could follow. Not here, like this, with her and the night and fire and awful, grinning...

His hips bucked despite himself, pressing deeper into the slick, tight _heat_ of her and-

A piercing slash down his ribs regained his focus in an instant. “ _Still_ ,” she warned. “ _Felas._ ”

She rocked her hips, gentle at first, shallow. Pulling up just enough to slowly grind back down in a languid rhythm. Her head dropped back, eyes slipping shut in a slow, rapturous smile that opened into a soft gasp when she picked up speed. Her hips rolled back until only the swollen head of his cock remained inside.

“ _Ma emma harel, Solas,_ ” she hissed, and in the dimming firelight he could no longer separate her grin from the fanged jaw painted across her cheek. _You should be afraid._ Her nails carved crescents into his flesh, bright beads of red welling up where pierced. “ _Dirthara-ma,_ ” she warned.

_May you learn._

She slid down onto him without warning, seating him fully inside her with a low moan, and he was _lost_. His fingers clawed into the dirt for purchase, for stability, for some kind of _distraction_ until she’d finally, _please_ , let him touch her again. Having to sit back and only watch as she rode him was killing him. This small contact wasn’t enough; being _inside_ her wasn’t enough, he had to _feel_ -

Her hips stuttered, movements speeding. With a gasp, she arched back, fingers balling into fists, and shuddered through a body-wracking orgasm.

Solas couldn’t help himself—he reached for her.

He needed to be _closer,_ pressed to every part of her, needed to feel the weight of her in his arms and run reverent hands over the swell of her breasts and _touch_. He pushed up to meet her in a breathless kiss, and she thankfully— _miraculously_ —allowed her lips to part for him.  He drank in the taste of her, ran his tongue over the edges of her teeth and pulled her flush to his chest.

Dark laughter rumbled low in her painted throat. “What did I warn you about girls with sweet tongues?”

He was still buried inside her when she leaned into his shoulder and sank her teeth deep into the curve of his neck. He didn’t need to see blood to know she’d drawn it—he could feel it, dripping warm down the side of his throat, lapped up by the press of an eager tongue. He came with a tortured cry.

Lavellan sank against his chest with a satisfied hum. Beneath his own ragged breathing, he could feel the rapid beat of her heart.

“You know if I’d been hunting you,” she said, “you’d be dead right now. Tsk, tsk.” He felt her lips stretch against his throat in a smile. “Shameful.”

He ran fingers absently up and down the vertebrae of her spine, head still spinning somewhere old and lost. Yes, he supposed. He probably would be dead.

“Let’s hope you never hunt me, then.”

 

* * *

 

Morning came far too early. With Lavellan still dozing, naked and paint-streaked atop him in their tent, Solas resigned himself to watching the sun rise through the canvas walls. _His warrior,_ he mused, already eying the healing claw marks across his chest. Savage little hunter.

She’d finally abandoned the fur coat.

They were packing up for the day’s expedition when Dorian motioned to his neck. “You’ve got a bit of, ah…war paint under your collar, there.”

Carefully maintaining non-eye contact, Solas tugged his collar up without a word.

“…right,” Dorian assured. “You got it.” He cracked a smile that turned into an amused snicker. “You… _definitely_ got it. Thoroughly. _Commendably_.”

“Fuckin’ _loudly,_ ” Iron Bull called from across camp.

Ah. Well.  
The blush that hit him made it all the way up to the tips of his ears. He tried to ignore it. “Are you done?”

“Nowhere near,” Dorian scoffed. “Why, are you on a very tight schedule? No time for friends between all the pressing _diplomatic relations?_ For shame.”

He would have liked very much to argue that—or at least cut in with something scathing. Something, just to make him _shut up,_ but then Lavellan emerged from their tent.

“Sleep well?” Dorian asked, entirely too innocuous.

Lavellan only nodded. “You know it,” she said, and promptly high-fived him.

Solas supposed he should not have been surprised. Once graciously alone, he regarded her with an auspicious smirk. “Perhaps next time you should pick a less inopportune location.” _Next time_. Now there was a thought.

Nodding for him to come closer, she leaned in close as if to whisper, and instead traced the tip of her tongue ghostly-light over the edge of his ear. “ _Make me_.”

She pulled away with a dark, slow-growing grin.

A tempting offer, he considered.

Perhaps he would.

**Author's Note:**

> lilith: "check it out i'm naked"  
> solas: *war flashbacks*
> 
> y'all need to get your shit together.
> 
> Title/poem from (surprise) Little Red Riding Hood, ho ho ho.


End file.
